Sidewalk RendezVous
by muchmadness
Summary: It's a Danny/Lindsay recovering story. Everyone has to write one, right?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This takes place after Danny has told Lindsay about his affair, all of that. In case you were wondering. There will be two chapters, I think. And I don't own the characters._

She stumbled on the sidewalk cracks. She pondered how evil they were – sidewalks should be smooth! – but her mind was off again. Such is the mentality of a tiny girl who has had six shots of tequila. She put her arms out to the sides to balance herself, then retracted them, fearful that she'd be arrested for being drunk in public.

She shuffled and kicked her way down the street, her mind marveling that a place could be so well lit so late at night. Montana was dark as ink after seven.

The tequila warmed her from the inside, a private fire against the chilly December air.

She lost her battle with the city streets at a tree root that had forced its way up through the concrete. Her heel caught on it, and she catapulted over it, landing flat on her ass, legs strewn haphazardly in front of her.

"Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid," she slurred, taking a moment to observe her surroundings.

"DAMN IT," she cried, recognizing the street signs despite her tilted vision. In a blind, alcohol-soaked effort to escape anything that reminded her of him, she'd wound up practically at his door.

While she was there, she decided she might as well visit her favorite coffee shop. That was the problem with ex-boyfriends – once you lose them, you lose all the things you did with them. She was flooded with memories of his door creaking open, and his footsteps coming closer and closer, reaching her sheet-wrapped form with two delicious coffees clasped and steaming in his hands. She'd thank him with a kiss, and they'd lie together –

She physically brushed the memories away with a swat of her hand, her current state prompting her to believe that hand gestures could cure festering wounds.

She scrambled to her feet, promising herself that she wouldn't cry.

"Hey, baby," came a heavy voice from the alley to her left, "you lost?" The tone was laden with raw sex drive, uncomfortable and foreboding.

"I'm Steve," the tall brunet said to her boobs, "and you must be the girl of my dreams."

She brushed past him, urgently seeking the warmth of the squishy couches and bright lights of _Andy's Caffeine Stop_.

"C'mon, baby, don't be like that," Steve said, his unnaturally pale hand reaching for her arm.

"Not 'chur baby," she whined, sidestepping his touch. _I'm __his __baby, _she thought fiercely, rejuvenated by the thought, _At least, I was. He has another one now._

Steve grew mad. She could see it in his blackish eyes, saw it gathering in the corners of his thin lips, below his heavy mustache. He stepped firmly in front of her, one hand on each of her forearms. Hard. She tried to shake him off, slowly at first, but then with more force until she was actually struggling to get away.

"You got no _right _to say things like that. NO RIGHT," Steve grunted, "so you're gonna make up for it by coming with me and –"

"Hey, FUCK OFF, man," said the guy behind him.

Lindsay relaxed in Steve's grip.

Steve let go, his hands held in mock surrender, mustache upturned in a fake, toothy smile.

"I got no problems, dude," Steve said, backing away.

"Yeah, ya better hope not, 'cause if you _ever _try that again, you're mud on the sidewalk," he said, and Steve was gone.

"Whaddre you do-o-oin' here, Danny?" She asked.

"I live here. You know that. What were you thinkin', walking around like that at this hour?" He reached out and took her hand, gently, in sharp contrast to Steve only a few minutes before.

They walked together, though she sensed that he knew better than she where they were going. She resumed her kicking and shuffling, suddenly angry that the sidewalk was once again battling her. It was only after a near repeat of her earlier fall that he settled her into a piggyback.

He took her to his apartment and settled her down on the couch.

"I hate it here," she said dully.

"Yeah, then why'd ya come?" He retorted. He reached out to touch the light graze on her arm from when she fell on the sidewalk.

"You're freezing," he grumbled. It was more of a complaint than a comment.

She let him take off her shoes and rub her feet and wrap her in a blanket, but when he tried to hand her a sandwich, she pushed his hands away. He sighed.

"Montana, you need something to absorb the alcohol. You haven't eaten all day."

"How do you know," she grumbled, and took three sloppy bites before he stopped holding it out in front of her. She refused to tell him how delicious it was.

He gave her water and put her in his bed. She pulled him in with her before he could protest.

"Just pretend," she murmured.

"Pretend what?"

"That it never happened."

He tried to make himself believe that she was talking about the drinking, and the falling, and the guy he'd seen her with, but he knew the truth. If it weren't for him, none of it would've happened.

She felt his hurt radiating from behind her, and it took almost all of whatever restraint she had left not to roll over and curl into his chest.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't." He knew that for sure. She'd been so distant towards him that he couldn't breathe some days, but he took all of it because he knew he deserved it. She wouldn't be so hurt if she hadn't loved him, and she did still, because he saw her crying still, and he saw her look at him sometimes with longing, not ferocity. She was mad, she was furious, but she still loved him, and he didn't know what to do with that.

"You hate me."

"No, I don't." There was no question about that.

"I have to stay away from you."

"Why?"

"'Cause of what you did. You don't like me anymore."

"I was hurting. Now I'm not. And I want you back."

"Just shut up."

"NO."

She got up and looked at him, propped up shakily on her elbows. He'd never spoken with such conviction before, and it startled her.

"You can't do this. I love you and I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'll make up for it every day of my life, I swear. But you're not doing well, Linds. You're getting drunk and getting into situations like this. Flack told me you were totally wasted last Friday, and now – now you almost get attacked by some guy. So I'll do whatever I have to. I'll leave you alone if you swear you'll stop doing this."

She looked like she was going to cry.

"Not that I want to leave you," he said hastily, "but whatever you want, I'll do it. Just please, please stop hurting yourself."

She leaned back onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

"Hurt _me_. Please. If you have to hurt someone, hurt _me,_" he finished, and shut up.

She couldn't fight it anymore and rested her head on his shoulder, lifting his arm and putting it behind her.

"OK," she whispered, "but not tonight."

He kissed her head. "I love you, baby."

"Steve said baby, too," she mumbled.

"You knew him?" he kept his tone far from accusatory, but he couldn't hide his slight rejection. For a moment he was convinced that 'Steve' was her new guy, and that he'd lost her forever.

"Nuh-uh. He thought I was lost," she yawned, and he pulled her into him, wrapping her in an arm and a leg. She nuzzled into him further, breathing him in and drawing nonsensical patterns on his neck with her thumb.

"Do you really love me?" She asked right before she slipped into sleep.

"More than you know. Now go to sleep."

She mumbled something about trying to, before dozing off still wrapped in his tight embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

Just a midget sized entry, maybe another later. My friend just broke up with her boyfriend, and I have to make sure she maintains her happiness level with much attention and possibly the newest Cosmo. He cheated on her, actually. Funny how things connect that way.

--

She woke up confused. She could ride out the pain, but she was crazy befuddled about why she was wrapped in the sheets of her ex-boyfriend, with no such ex-boyfriend in sight.

But then she realized – if she actually had _seen _said ex-boyfriend, she probably would've punched him in the face. The truth of the matter was, she'd silently swore to herself never to come back to this apartment, never to lie in this bed (or any other flat surface in the apartment), never to kiss his perfect, gorgeous lips or sculpted body ever again. He did a bad thing, she'd reasoned, and she was not allowed to date people who did bad things.

It hurt more because she couldn't be with cheaters. She was unsure if it was years of being in a profession where drastic outcomes of cheating are found in bloody pools and on gunpowder-ed hands and clothes. It might've been her firm resolve not to taint her belief in true love and soul mates. Whatever the reason, she couldn't be with cheaters. So she was confused why she was in a cheater's habitat.

She heard footsteps in the back of her mind, not registering their possible source until the door glided open and he stepped in, holding coffee and a pastry. She was fully aware of the source.

He put them down on the table, pulling an aspirin from his pocket and the water off the nightstand, and handed them to her.

She took the aspirin and washed it down with the water, only then realizing how her parched throat had begged for it.

She drank the coffee while Danny cleaned the graze on her arm with water and antiseptic. It was a scratch – she'd probably have ignored it herself, but he treated it like an ancient painting, touching it only with a stinging cotton ball and a bandage.

When he was done, she missed the feather touches on her arm, even if they weren't his, exactly. She sighed.

He cleared his throat softly and spoke: "I know you don't wanna talk about it, but do you remember last night at all?"

"I remember falling a lot." She thought hard, forcing the memories to bubble to the surface. "I wanted coffee. You took me here," she said slowly, "I think you carried me."

He looked away sheepishly. She was so surprised to see him react that way that she nearly dropped her coffee. Danny Messer did not blush. He did not look away. He stared you right in the eyes and you couldn't say anything but truth or love because that's what he did.

"Yeah, sorry. You kept falling."

"It's OK," she said, stunned.

He took a deep breath and faced her again, fumbling with the words. "Do you remember Steve?"

"Was that the guy?" she asked, suddenly aware of the bruises on her arms.

"Yeah."

"Yes, I do."

"Do you remember our talk afterwards? What you promised?"

She did. It all came back to her, and she refused to show any sort of shame. She nodded calmly.

"I gotta get to work," he said, "You can stay here as long as you want. I can take you back now if you want, or whenever. I can run over here and grab you any time."

"I can do it on my own."

"It's twenty degrees out there. Take a cab, and borrow one of my jackets or something, OK?"

She nodded.

"And I can get Flack or Stella to take you back, if you don't want me to do it. I don't mind."

She shrugged. "I don't care." She took a sip of the coffee and realized that she truly didn't mind who brought her home, it could be Hitler for all she cared, because she didn't want to stay here. She didn't mind as much as before, when she had no idea what was going on, but she still felt like she couldn't breathe.

She borrowed his jacket (he handed her the thickest one, and she didn't argue – she only had a skimpy dress between that and her skin) and he took her home. He turned on music so she wouldn't have to talk.

When he let her off, she climbed out of the car and hesitated, the door handle still grasped tightly and chafing her palm.

"Danny, I – " what could she say? She could see him preparing to cringe, bracing himself for hurt. "Just thanks. That's it. Thank you."

He smiled, and his eyes brightened. "No prob."

She shut the door behind her and walked up to her apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

_Did I ever say that I don't own anything? (Why do I always forget??) Because I don't._

* * *

She allotted him friendship. She let him sit next to her when they took breaks for snacks, permitted him to offer her a hand up from the couch when she'd just come off of a double shift, and she let him joke around with her. The latter was involuntary – when that man wanted to make a joke, there was no argument about it – you _had_ to laugh.

"Watcha thinkin', Linds?" he asked as she fiddled with a scrap of fabric caught on a dumpster. The dead body of a 30-year-old female lay in a pool of blood to her left.

"Her husband, Lex, was wearing this same color blue earlier. His jacket, I think. I didn't see any tears on it," she turned to look up at him and caught him staring at her again, his eyes longing but his mouth silent.

He snapped out of it when he saw the pointed look she was giving him. "Alright, yeah, I'll go talk to him."

"Better yet, I'll do it. You pissed him off with that snarky comment about his alibi."

"You sure?"

"I'll be fine."

She stood slowly, having knelt in one position for more than ten minutes. Her knees were sore, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down on a bed and relax. After all, she'd been working for the past 12 hours.

Lex Anderson scuffed his feet when he lied. She noticed it right off the bat, when he told her that he wasn't having an affair. Even Danny had noticed the distinct smell of a flowery perfume that was nowhere to be found in their victim's closet.

"Mr. Anderson, could you remind me where you were last night?"

"I told you and that other detective. I was at an art gallery. I don't remember which one, alright?" His foot squeaked on the floor, and Lindsay resisted a smile.

"Can you explain the seventeen calls you've placed in the last week to a 'Julie Patterson?'"

The feet started up again, swinging and rocking back and forth, as he stuttered out a 'no.'

"Look, Mr. Anderson, I'm sure we both know that you're having an affair. Now I know how it goes, I've seen it all before. You didn't want your wife to get in the way, so you shot her with your father-in-law's gun. It's as simple as that."

"IT ISN'T," he thundered.

"Well, then, do you want to tell me what happened?"

"She didn't get it."

"Who didn't understand? Your wife?"

"Yeah. She talked all the time about starting a family, about having kids – I couldn't handle it all. And when I told her about Julie – she – she freaked. She came at me, and I had to shoot her."

"Why did you have to shoot her?" Lindsay asked tiredly. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't care enough. The poor woman had suffered through the death of her father, and then she wound up getting shot by her cheating husband.

Lex went on to explain how his wife had come at him with a gun, how he'd defended himself, and Lindsay had to fight herself to refrain from slamming her notepad down on the table and storming out. She stayed, listening to his excuses and watching his feet, and when he was done, she told the officer to take him away – and quick.

She pushed open the door, only to find Danny hovering inches from it.

"Not now, Danny, I don't –"

"You mad?"

"Frankly, yes."

He pulled her down into the basement, into one of the workout rooms Flack and he took advantage of a few days a week.

"Danny, thanks, but I'm not really in the mood to lift weights or anything."

"Would ya give me a _minute, _Montana?" It was the first time he'd called her that since … since the thing, and it properly stunned her into silence.

He pulled out some boxing gloves, wrapping her hands for her and handing her the gloves. He stood behind a heavy punching bag, holding it for her, and smirked.

"Go," he said, and it was all he really needed to say. She came at the bag full force, taking off her jacket and topmost shirt to reveal a tank top. She pummeled the bag, and when that wasn't enough, Danny took out some mitts and had her beat the hell out of his hands.

She started grunting at the end, bursts of energy that forced their way out of her. He kept her hitting and fighting, well aware that she needed it as much as he had after Reuben. It was barely different, really. He'd lost a friend, and so had she. And Danny couldn't figure out how to come back to her. He wanted to, desperately, because he'd lost her, too – but he had absolutely no idea how.

"Eugh! Uh! Stupid! Hate him! Ah!" And for the final one, she shrieked, slamming her fist hard into Danny's palm, before collapsing onto him, worn out and sweaty. He took off the mitts and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her lean on him with all of her weight, unable to keep herself up. She was sobbing in earnest, quietly and deeply. He could feel the gloves pressing on his back, limp and slightly warm from their recent contact. She wasn't hugging him so much as using him to hold her up. He felt her shake in his arms with each wave of tears.

"I know," he murmured, "I know." He wasn't sure how he knew, or what he knew, but it seemed to make sense.

When she stopped crying, they were on the floor, Danny's back at the wall, Lindsay on his lap, her gloves discarded by his feet like bizarre statues on the blue mat of the room. It was the first time he'd touched her since Rikki.

"I should get home," she said at last.

"Take a cab. Or let me drive you. We don't have to talk."

"We can talk if you want." She stood and gathered her coat and shirt, wrapping them loosely around her as her movements shed cold wind on her sweaty skin. He got up as well, and put away their gloves and mitts, unwrapping her hands.

They walked out together, shoulders close but never touching, shooting glances at one another.


	4. Chapter 4

Ok, this is much shorter than I thought it would be. Alas … On the bright side, this story is a lot more fun to write than I thought it would be. Psht, two chapters. I'm aiming for seven, now!

--

"So, can I have your number?" he asked. He was cute; there was no denying that. Pretty green eyes, light brown hair, and great cheekbones made his face seem like a cubist picture – angular and strong.

"Uh, yeah, sure," she grinned sweetly, and wrote it down on a sheet of paper torn from a magazine in her purse.

She gave him her work phone, not her home, just in case. She tended to follow Stella in caution – keep strange men away from your place, away from your home, so the bad things are easier to clean up.

She walked away, feeling eyes on her back. Danny stood in front of her, caught between snapping a picture of an out-of-place stain on the concrete and stepping towards her.

"Witness?"

"Um, no," she said, reddening, "a guy I met a couple of days ago in a bar."

"He following you?"

"No, nothing like that. He works around here."

Danny shrugged it off, suddenly very interested in the stain. He knew it was just pollen from the tree above him, but he did not care. It was something to focus on.

So she'd moved on. Alright, she deserved that. But it didn't mean that he couldn't pry. Ex-boyfriends were allowed to be jealous, right? They could be as jealous as they wanted. Hell, they might even find paper on their ex-girlfriend's desk with a name and a number, and they might look up the guy on the computer, just because.

He caught up with Lindsay as she walked down the hall, file in one hand, bagel in the other, and he barely caught up with her before she veered into their office.

"Hey, Linds, I –"

"Did you get the results back from the trace on that guy's clothes from this morning? Because his tox screen showed an extremely high level of copper."

"Uh, yeah. It was peanut oil."

She looked up at him, face scrunched in thought, and paused. He wouldn't talk to her while she was thinking. He hadn't seen that face in a while – complete concentration. She'd been so distracted lately. Was she happy? Was she better? Was she out of pain? He decided to keep his new discovery to himself. Even if the guy _was_ in the system. Her crush had been convicted of credit card fraud. Once. Twelve years earlier. What had once made Danny's blood alight with new energy (_she'll come back! He's not good enough!)_ fizzled and washed away, replaced with a weariness. The guy was nice. He looked alright. But Lindsay looked spectacular. And if _he_ did that, this 'Joseph Petrelli' of hers, then he could stay.

"Maybe he bought peanuts from that vendor down the street? We could see if he'd ever eaten there before, and maybe …"

Danny toned out, working himself into his new resolve. He'd back away. He had to. Even if she was smiling and happy around everyone again, and if her feet lifted higher when she walked. She'd recovered, and they were back at square one, but this time he was the secret, the reason they couldn't be together.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey there guys! I thought I'd add a little something before the episode airs. Just for kicks. Give me any suggestions or critiques! Thanks for the reviews I already have; they're fantastic!

--

He was perfect. He agreed to meet her at the restaurant, and he was there on time with flowers. He asked her all the right questions, said all the right things. By the end of the night she let him hold her hand. At the cab, they kissed. She liked it a little bit. Or, she tried. His tongue was too limp, he was too sloppy. _But kissing isn't everything, _she scolded herself, _he's a nice young guy._

"We'll do this again soon?" He asked hopefully, his hand still on her arm.

"Yes. Call me," she said with a smile, and got into the cab.

He shut the door behind her and she sat with her thoughts, breathing in the "pine" air freshener that masked the 'everyone-ever-has-been-here' smell that follows all public modes of transportation.

Once she'd made her way up to her apartment, she decided that she needed to think. Hard. There was too much breaking and creating and not enough healing.

So she dragged out her pie tins and remembered the ingredients for her grandmother's peach pie. She needed a few materials, so she headed out to the store, ignoring the perturbed looks she got from the homeless man that was always near her door stoop. Danny had always given him spare change when he was over. She'd asked him why, considering he ignored the ones on the subways and on other streets.

"_You see someone every day, ya gotta give 'em a little recognition," _he'd explained in simple, clear Danny-logic.

The clerk flashed her a raised eyebrow at the strange assortment of ingredients on the check-out counter. Lindsay shrugged off the looks, knowing that her grandmother's pie was like no other, despite its strange bits and pieces.

She started by getting her anger out on the pecans. She shoved them into a plastic bag and pummeled away at it with the back of a spoon. She ground them into the finest powder she'd ever done, smooth and silky, much like the sugar she poured into the bowl with it. Then there was the smooth molasses (just a smidge), the smell of which took her back to lazy summer days on her grandmother's porch, sucking on a spoon of molasses and watching the ducks waddle and glide around the pond. The flour gave her peace – smoothing over the measuring cup of the smooth, wispy powder calmed her. And the peaches gave her sweetness, licking her fingers after slicing them with satisfying precision. Then butter, some milk, and mounds of cinnamon.

She used store-bought crusts, something her grandmother would've slapped her wrist for, but she couldn't help it – she had an early shift. And she wanted to think and ponder, not to spend hours and hours rolling dough until blisters came to her fingers.

While her pie baked, she thought of them both. The two boys. And she realized that no amount of baked goods could work it out. _All that and this is where I end up? _She just had to let it take its course. She'd follow up with Joseph, and see where he'd take her. And Danny – she didn't know. Despite her lip-curling, flower-killing, drive-you-to-the-drink anger she held for him, she couldn't deny that something inside her breathed deeply and tickled her whenever she saw him. She'd let that sit. She'd see where it took her.

The next day, she found herself wrapped up in a whirlwind of a case. A sixty year old man was found surrounded by seventeen dead squirrels. She laughed hard at Danny's face when he arrived. He couldn't think of a single retort.

"Ah – well … he musta … I got nothin', Montana."

She snorted at him and went on to put her seventh squirrel in a bag.

"Do you wanna autopsy them, or should I?" he asked.

"I think Hawkes and I can get it," she responded. She wasn't averting her eyes anymore. She looked him dead on, and sometimes she smiled. He had to restrain from dancing when she did that.

"How was your, ah, your date last night?" He was trying so hard to be cordial; she could see that. She thanked him with a smile, and told him that it was nice. She didn't elaborate. She'd seen the look on his face when she'd mentioned going out with the guy.

Danny wanted to ask her right out if she'd had sex. It wasn't like they'd exactly broken up or anything. Well, they hadn't said the words. She'd told him how she couldn't be with him. She couldn't be near him. She couldn't look at him. But she'd started to, a little. His goal had been making sure she was alright. Then he planned to grovel and beg his brains out. Then friendship. Then reconciliation. Love, marriage, kids. The whole thing. Nowhere in his plans had there been a Joseph Petrelli. It was a selfish thought, to believe that she'd eventually make it back to him in the end, but he couldn't help hoping, and couldn't help remembering the times when she'd just stare at him and sigh, and smile.

He didn't ask, just kept on plodding through the day and the case, doing his job, and admiring from afar. He was able to keep his mind away from her to a reasonable degree until later that night, when Flack called his cell.

"Hey, Dan – something you should know," Flack started.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Monroe is at a bar on Lexington, near fifty third street. She's pretty sloshed. Maybe you should go check it out."

Danny promised he would, and popped in the car, dreading having to talk to her.

He saw her twirling a swizzle stick in her drink, chasing an olive. She didn't look particularly gone, but she wasn't doing anything about the guy to her left who wasn't Joseph Petrelli, and certainly wasn't Danny, but who definitely was hitting on her.

Danny jerked his head in indication that the guy should back off, and he did, grumpy and brushing past Lindsay. Danny sat down in the recently vacated seat and sighed.

"Montana, you said you wouldn't do this."

"'S different. 'S not you."

That drew Danny's attention. If he was the problem, then he'd back away. But if there was something else bothering her, someone else, then he was all over it, ready to get into action.

"Whassa matter, Linds?" Danny sat up straighter in his chair.

"Why do guys do that?"

"Do what?"

"Sleep around."

Danny slumped a little in his chair.

"I mean," Lindsay slurred, "I'm not trying to yell at anyone. I just wanna know if they all do it, or if something about me just _screams _'easy fuck.'"

"Linds, that's not it at – Did someone say that to you? Who was it? Was it –"

"It's not that I'm not saying no to them. I should do that more often." She wavered slightly in her chair. Danny stood and helped her down.

"Can you just take me home? I don't wanna talk," she asked him, her eyes watering.

He nodded and pulled her out of the bar, helping her into the department car and buckling her seat belt.

Before he could leave for the other side, she grabbed him and kissed him hard. He couldn't help but respond – he'd been dreaming of it for the past four weeks – but he knew it was wrong when he tasted the bitter alcohol on her tongue. He pushed her away gently, his hands on her shoulders.

"Woah, Montana. Let's wait 'til you're sober for that, alright?"

She squinted her eyes and rubbed her nose sloppily. Danny shut her door and took a moment to shake his head clear before walking back over to his side of the car.

Once they'd arrived at her place, he looked over at her, a little more sober than before, leaning on the glass and watching her breath condense on the window. She drew on the condensation with her pinky finger, leaving wavy lines that squeaked as they passed.

"He's married," she said quietly.

"Who is?"

"Joseph. I found out today. I called his number and his wife answered."

Danny's first instinct was to ask if he could beat Joseph up for her, but he thought that wasn't the best question, even if she was drunk.

"I'm so sorry, Linds," he soothed, and he laid his hand on her arm, rubbing and smoothing the jacket. She turned and smiled at him sadly, and they went up to her apartment together.

She awoke the next morning to find Danny asleep on her couch, a mug of coffee in the microwave for her to warm.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note - I'm done! Yay! I finished one! Hope it's clear at the end... I'm still working on the other story, if anyone's interested. :) Happy reading!_

--

Danny sat up and took the coffee Lindsay handed him. She'd split her portion into two.

"You sure you don't want the whole thing? You need it more than me…"

"No, I'm fine," she said, staring into the sloshing dark liquid.

"So." Danny said, preparing himself.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm sorry, OK? I know I promised I wouldn't do that again." She fiddled with the hem of her white blouse.

"Not – not that. I mean, we'll get to that later. I meant this guy, Joseph."

"Oh, him."

Danny leaned back onto the arm of the couch and took a sip. He watched her fiddle with the blouse, then move onto the light blue wear in the knees of her jeans, smoothing and scratching at the material. It was a good three minutes before she spoke.

"After I called him and got his wife, I went out to meet him like we'd arranged. I thought it might've been a mistake. When I got there, he was twenty minutes late. I saw him take off the ring outside the restaurant."

"Oh, Linds –"

"No, it's OK. I should've known, right?" She looked up at him with an expression he couldn't place. It was a sort of acceptance, a type of sad submission to a rule that shouldn't be there.

"Montana –"

"Don't, Danny, it's fine. I'll be alright. He was so perfect, and so nice, and I was blindsided by that just like I was …" her voice faltered and she returned to her fiddling.

"Lindsay, you can't just accept it. You shouldn't." He knew this was his fault, too, and he was right there with this Joseph guy. He was five seconds from bashing his head into the wall. "What he did, what I did – that's not how the world is. So don't just sit there and act like it's your fault, because it's not. I told you this. It's not your fault. It's his, and it's mine. Cheating – it isn't something people are allowed to do. Get mad at him, for Chrissake! Don't act like it's no big deal."

She stared at him solemnly, watching him. He'd pulled himself up onto his knees, and was sitting on his heels, almost like he was begging her.

She pursed her lips and sat back, holding the coffee carefully so as not to spill it. She said nothing for a while. Their eyes caught and they watched each other, Danny's pleading and hers neutral.

She started moving on the couch. She put the drink down on the table. She nudged her knees forwards. One leg swung slowly off the couch. She slid herself more, onto the next cushion. Her hands pulled herself further along using the top of the couch. Finally, she was right in front of him, her breath hot on his face, leaning in towards him.

He took the last step. He couldn't take it anymore. She was no more than two centimeters from his mouth. There were a few things Danny Messer could not take and one of them was uncertainty. So he made up his mind to kiss her before he exploded with the suspense.

He touched her only with his lips first, pressing lightly to make sure he'd made the right choice. She brought her hands up slowly, like she was moving through pudding, to rest on his shoulders, her hands hanging limply down his back. Only when she parted her mouth did he lean forwards, holding the backrest to steady them both, and brought himself on top of her on the couch. He sucked her lip carefully, wondering where she planned to take them and how far they would go, and what it meant and what he'd done and could he please stop thinking and just kiss her and let that be that.

She couldn't help but emit a tiny sigh, and he pulled away immediately. She shook her head and pulled him back down to her, opening her mouth wider and brushing her tongue forwards into his mouth.

She took off his shirt; he touched the skin above her jeans. She unbuttoned his pants; he moved his hand to her butt. She couldn't get him to go much further. Finally, with a low growl, she brought her hand to his and dragged it up to her shirt, pulling their hands together up to her bra. He got the hint.

By the time their heard the knocks at the door, she was topless and pressed tightly against him, her jeans in the process of being pushed down her waist. Danny, clad in a wifebeater and unbuttoned pants, groaned, pulled away, and dropped his head into the curve of her neck.

She laughed at his defeat, "It's OK. We'll finish later."

He got up and buttoned his pants.

"I think it's my neighbor. I gave him a pie yesterday; he's probably just returning the pie tins."

"I'll get it," he said, pulling her shirt out of her hands and brushing his hand along her cheek as he walked to the door.

Once Danny put the pie tins back in her cupboard, he made his way back to the couch, where she was struggling to get her t-shirt back on.

"Got any pie left?" he asked.

"No," she smiled, "I only made one."

"Thought you said you only made pie when you were worried 'bout somethin."

She shrugged, "nothing I can't fix."

He grinned at her.

Her phone rang and she looked at it for a moment before dropping it onto the floor in disgust.

"Wassa matter? Who was it?"

"Joseph," she said grumpily. She swung her feet over the side of the couch before pausing. "You know …"

Danny smiled, "We could have a little fun with him…"

Joseph Petrelli didn't know what hit him. He was all prepared for a casual talk with a girl he thought he could get something from, when he heard a moan and a few choice words directed through his phone.

"Um, Lindsay?"

"_Oh, God, YES! … _Jo-Joseph?" She gasped. At the other end, Danny watched her proudly, before starting in with his own moans and grunts.

"I was just calling –"

"_C'mon, baby, GO! C'mon! Augh …_" Danny shouted, Lindsay sitting cross-legged in front of him giggling through her hand.

"-to, uh, to see if you wanted –"

"_Ah, Danny! RIGHT THERE."_

"- you know what, maybe this is a bad time …"

"_Oh, God. OH GOD!" _Lindsay screamed, and she heard the click. She collapsed onto Danny's chest, laughing and giggling hysterically.

"That was so much FUN!" She shouted.

"Wish we coulda seen his face…" Danny grinned.

"I love you."

He looked at her, smiling and hiccupping, and could do no more than brush his lips to hers.

"I love you, too."

"Good," she smiled toothily, "now let's go get some food. I'm starving!"

"We could have you make a pie …"

"OH! Let's go to Andy's!"

"Alright, alright. Get your coat, it's freezing."

She watched him lock the door behind them, pocketing her keys, and took her boyfriend's hand.


End file.
